The Martian

Imagine being stranded on Mars with no one to talk to but yourself, NASA's email server, and a bag of potatoes. Now imagine being smart enough to survive it—and sarcastic enough to make it hilarious. That’s The Martian.

Mark Watney is essentially what happens when you trap a botanist, a mechanical engineer, and a stand-up comedian in one guy and then launch him into space without a return ticket. He wakes up alone on Mars and doesn’t waste time panicking. No, he immediately starts science-ing everything like Bill Nye with a death wish.

His survival plan includes:

• Hacking rovers
• Farming with his own poop
• Duct taping literal death traps
• Roasting NASA via text from 140 million miles away

It’s like watching someone speedrun “Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs” using only leftover tools, sharp wit, and a spreadsheet.

This book does three things exceptionally well:

• It makes orbital mechanics and atmospheric chemistry feel like high-stakes puzzles you want to solve.
• It turns a near-death experience every other chapter into a chance for brilliant one-liners.
• It proves that duct tape, sarcasm, and potatoes can get you through literally anything.

Watney's internal monologue is 50% engineering genius, 30% gallows humor, and 20% “I can’t believe that worked.” He literally says things like “I’m going to have to science the shit out of this,” and then does. Repeatedly. The man treats interplanetary disaster the way most people treat a flat tire — mildly annoying, but solvable with a wrench and a good playlist.

There’s a lot of real science in this book — orbital slingshots, CO₂ scrubbers, oxygen reclamation, crop sustainability under radiation — but Weir delivers it with so much clarity and comic timing, it never feels like a lecture. It feels like you're listening to the funniest guy in your astrophysics class narrate his slow-motion attempt not to die on the red planet.

And don't forget the Earth-side plot: a global scramble to bring one sarcastic nerd home, involving multiple space agencies, bureaucratic panic, and public support that probably peaked when they found out he was growing potatoes in Martian soil using his own poop. (As far as PR wins go, “NASA astronaut fertilizes potatoes with feces” isn’t what you'd expect, but it worked.)

This book isn’t about heroism in the usual sense. It’s about methodical problem-solving, absurd optimism, and the sheer force of will to say, “Well, that exploded… time to fix it,” forty times in a row. Watney doesn’t make speeches. He logs status updates. And somehow, that’s way more inspiring.

Bottom line:
The Martian is the best argument for teaching STEM in schools and sarcasm at home.
If you love science, dark humor, and high-stakes “DIY or die,” this is your Bible.
And if I’m ever stranded on another planet, I want Mark Watney in my comms — or at the very least, his potato-growing manual and a lot of duct tape.